FICTIONAL WORLDS

BirdMiles

When I was writing my Western stories I felt fit and optimistic — all those big skies and wide open spaces, all that moving around on horseback, cheered me up, even when the stories were grim. Now, writing about the dark underbelly of Los Angeles in 1954, I feel shabby and paranoid, unhealthy and in constant need of a drink. I hope this one will go quickly, before I need rehab.

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